


I Will Follow You into the Dark

by glittering_git



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Demon Geralt, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt's kilometre wide martyr streak, Happy Ending, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Leshens (The Witcher), Light Angst, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Monsters, Mutual Pining, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, canon-typical discrimination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittering_git/pseuds/glittering_git
Summary: Jaskier’s bored with his sex life. He’s already slept with everyone hot in the Northern Kingdoms. So, when he hears about the possibility of summoning an incubus, he jumps at the chance. There’s only onesmallproblem—he doesn’t actually summon an incubus.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 89
Kudos: 329





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the inimitable [ravenclawkward](https://ravenclawkwardly.tumblr.com/) for the beta work, plus the [brilliant cover art!](https://glittering-git.tumblr.com/post/626619095209656320/jaskier-slowly-opened-his-eyes-from-his-vantage) This fic would not be what it is without your help, and you even surprised me with art for my story, which is all that I’ve ever wanted. So thank you thank for making a girl’s fanfic wishes come true :) Thank you also to [aceysaid10persquent](https://aceysaid10persquent.tumblr.com/) for making sure that everything was in tip-top shape before posting. 
> 
> This fic is complete and will be updated regularly. 
> 
> This fic was loosely inspired by [this post on Tumblr](https://21chrysanthemums.tumblr.com/post/616335468746964992/howtofuckamonster). Title is from Death Cab for Cutie’s song of the same name.

“Thank you for having me tonight,” Jaskier finished with a deep bow. One extremely drunk patron clapped half-heartedly, but no one else was paying him much attention. That was honestly what he’d been expecting, given the quality, or lack thereof, of the establishment. 

Jaskier swept off the stage and headed straight to the bar. The barmaid handed him a pint of ale and Jaskier took a small sip. It was shit, but it was free shit, and he wasn’t one to turn up his nose at free. “Thank you.” He raised his pint in appreciation and the barmaid nodded in return. 

Jaskier took his drink and found a corner to sip it in. He normally would’ve liked to mingle with the crowd, seeing if there was anyone special who caught his eye, but he’d just fled Rinde because of an extremely jealous wife and he was craving a peaceful night. 

The raucous sounds of the alehouse and the warm fire soon lulled him into a meditative state, and he began lazily working on his most recent ballad about a gentleman who loved too deeply. _Too much his heart was wanting / A fair maiden in his bed_. 

Jaskier was suddenly torn away from his composition. “You did what?” a man bellowed, smashing his pint on the table and sending cold beer spraying across the back of Jaskier’s neck. 

He jerked his head towards the noise, which came from the next table over. He saw a large man shove his hand over his smaller companion’s mouth. “Melitele’s tits, shut up, Ralph,” the large man hissed. “This isn’t a shouting matter.” Ralph looked chastised and shut up. 

Conversations restarted and the noise level rose once more, but Jaskier was curious. What had the two men been talking about? He needed to investigate.

He headed once more to the bar and asked for three pints of ale. 

“Two of those’ll cost you,” the barmaid said. Jaskier held out a few coins. He’d spent the winter months teaching at Oxenfurt, so he had a bit more to spend than he normally did.

He carefully carried the pints over to the table where the men were sitting and put them down with a loud _thump_. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I couldn’t help but overhear you earlier.” Jaskier gave them his most charming smile and slid over two of the pints. They gave him skeptical looks, but when he nudged the pints closer, they sighed and took the drinks. 

“What do you want to know?” the bigger man asked. 

“To start, what should I call you? I heard the other fellow’s name, but didn’t catch yours.” 

“You can call me Milo.” 

“Well, Milo, can you tell me what is ‘not a shouting matter’?” 

Milo gave Ralph a look and gestured at him to answer the question. 

“My friend here,” Ralph began, slapping Milo hard on the back, “went and got himself a succubus.” 

“‘A succubus?” What had these men been drinking? “Everyone knows those are monsters made up to frighten children.”

“That’s what I used to think, too,” Milo agreed. “Until last night.” He nudged Ralph. “Like I was just telling Ralph here, it was the best fucking night of my life.” He guffawed. “The best _fucking_ of my life, if you know what I mean?”

Jaskier winked exaggeratedly. “Oh, do I, you sly dog. You simply _must_ tell me how you did it.” 

“I wish I could, but the mage who gave me the spell made it so that I would forget it after I used it.” Milo shook his head in a slow no. “He wanted to make more coin by making me pay for it again. And I would, too, if it weren’t so damn expensive.” 

“Fuck. Could you at least tell me his name?” 

“Sorry, but I don’t remember.” He shrugged. “Must’ve been part of what I forgot once I completed the spell.” 

“I guess I’ll just have to find my own mage then, now won’t I?” Jaskier said, his lips curving into a smile at the prospect. He did so love a good chase, and what was worthier of his attentions than a literal sex demon? Although, if he had any say in the matter, he’d request an incubus. He wanted a fucking, after all. 

~~~

Jaskier was bored. He’d already slept with all the willing nobles in the Northern Kingdoms. While it’d been mostly pleasant, if you left out all the times he’d been threatened by a jealous husband, or sometimes wife, he was craving something _more_. That was why he was currently wearing his favourite trousers and standing ankle-deep in mud. At least that was what he told himself.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to sell me the spell?” he called once more, knowing that it was pointless because the mage had already fled out of sight. 

Jaskier sighed and resisted the temptation to sit his arse down in the mud. Then his trousers _would_ be properly ruined. 

“I hear you’re looking for a spell,” he heard a sultry voice say behind him. He turned as quickly as he could in the mud and saw the most beautiful sorceress. She was wearing a slim-fitted black dress that fell to the ground. Her raven-black hair was loose, framing her heart-shaped face. But it was her searing violet eyes that took his breath away. 

“I might be, yes. It’s been quite a challenge to find someone willing to give it to me, as you probably saw for yourself.” He gestured broadly to the empty road and the mud pit he was standing in. 

“Yes, well, if one is asking Kalesti for help, then it must be dire indeed.” She shook her head slightly, and Jaskier could tell from the merest twitch of her lip that she thought he was being a fool. His experience entertaining others for a living made him quite good at reading people, even if said people were scary hot sorceresses. 

“Well, excuse me if not every magic user I could find was as competent as you clearly are.” 

She preened at the compliment. “I am the best sorceress you will find on the Continent.” 

“Does that mean that you can help me?” Jaskier asked eagerly, clasping his hands together and pulling them against his chest pleadingly. “O great and wondrous sorceress?” He was not above using flattery to get what he wanted.

“You would trust a spell like that from a stranger?” she asked. “You must be braver than I am.” 

“I don’t consider you a stranger.” 

“You don’t even know my name.” 

“You don’t know mine,” he retorted.

“I am not the one claiming that we’re not strangers. Besides, I do know it, Jaskier.” 

“I am a famous bard,” he said while giving her a small bow. “I’m sure you’ve heard my songs sung throughout the Continent.” 

“While that is true, it is not the reason I know your name,” she said cryptically. 

“It’s only fair that you tell me yours since you know mine.” Jaskier gave her his most winning smile.

“Since I’m feeling generous, I will oblige you.” The sorceress stood up straighter, and Jaskier felt it in his bones that his life would be forever changed for knowing who stood in front of him. “I am Yennefer of Vengerberg.” 

“Yennefer.” The name was light and melodic. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

She smiled back, but it was small and tight. “Pleasure,” she said as if she were looking at a bug that she’d crushed beneath the heel of her boot.

Jaskier smirked. Brooding hot women were _his_ area of expertise, even better if they had the power to hurt him.

“I haven’t got all day. Do you want the spell or not?”

“Yes,” Jaskier said eagerly. “But what do you want in return?” The few others he’d encountered had set the price much too high, and he was worried that the same thing was about to happen. 

“No coins. You will owe me a debt that I can call on at any time.” 

Jaskier thought for a moment. It was undoubtedly very risky to put himself in a situation where he’d owe a very powerful sorceress, but she was offering him a spell he could get nowhere else. “Being in your debt seems like an unnecessary risk.” 

Yennefer shrugged. “Sometimes you can’t get what you want without risking something.” Her voice was tinged with sadness, and Jaskier was even more intrigued. 

He gave it one more moment of thought—if he said yes, it’d mean that he’d definitely see Yennefer again. “Well, honey, you’ve convinced me.” He winked. “I’ll leave the worrying to my future self.” 

She scoffed. “That sounds like a mature way of living your life, Jaskier.” 

“Hey, it’s worked out for me so far.” Jaskier spread his hands wide. He could feel Yennefer’s disbelieving look run up and down his body, taking in the mud puddle and Jaskier’s ruined trousers. He conceded that she may have had a point. “But it brought you into my life, my sweeting. All roads lead here.” 

Yennefer was not amused. “I find that I don’t particularly care to be called your ‘sweeting.’” 

“It’s all a part of the package—enchanting reticent sorceresses such as yourself with my charm and wits.” Jaskier wasn’t going to admit that Yennefer seemed more immune than his usual mark. He didn’t mind. He did love a challenge. 

She made a big show of looking around. “I don’t believe I see any wits around here, do you?” 

“I have something else I can show you.” 

Yennefer shuddered. “Please, I beg of you, do not. If I give you the spell, will you go away?”

Jaskier nodded earnestly. 

“Then you shall have it,” she said simply, but there was a glow in her eyes that even Jaskier couldn’t decipher. 

~~~

Posada was a shit town. Jaskier couldn’t wait until he could leave and never look back. He’d been pelted with rotten vegetables when he’d tried to play earlier in the evening, and absolutely no one would help him find the rare flowers, which were the last things that he needed in order to perform Yennefer’s spell. So, he’d spent hours in the dark, foraging for a flower that only grew in this part of the Continent in the spring under a new moon. 

But he’d finally managed to acquire all of the necessary ingredients and it was still the new moon for a few more hours. It was time to summon a demon. 

Jaskier went back to the inn that had so kindly thrown him out earlier and asked for a room. 

“Hey, you were the bard that was here earlier,” the elderly innkeeper commented. “I’m sorry about that.” 

“It happens.” Jaskier shrugged and waved off his apology. It wasn’t the innkeeper’s fault that Posada was such a terrible place. “For some reason, not everyone appreciates the dulcet tones of my singing.” 

“It wasn’t you, my boy. This crowd is pretty rough. Makes me wonder what a nice boy such as yourself is doing here.” 

“I don’t plan on being here long, if you would be so kind as to rent me a room for the night.”

The innkeeper just smiled knowingly at Jaskier and handed over a key. Jaskier took it and headed up the stairs and to the left, where a small but surprisingly cosy room welcomed him. He sighed with relief and crossed the threshold, threw his belongings down haphazardly, and collapsed on the bed. 

It was a struggle to convince himself to move again. The bed wasn’t exactly the most comfortable thing, but he was exhausted from his earlier foraging. It would be so easy to close his eyes and drift off to sleep. 

But he couldn’t do that. He had to try to summon the demon tonight, or wait another month, and he was not a patient person. He dragged his hands under his shoulders and heaved himself up to sitting. 

His pack had fallen open when he’d dropped it on the floor and all of the ingredients that he needed for the spell were strewn about. Jaskier manoeuvred himself off the bed and bent down to collect the items. They were a strange assortment. The bright purple petals of the rare flowers that he’d come to Posada to harvest fresh stood out next to the wolfsbane and crow’s eye he’d purchased on the road. The bottle of cadaverine looked much too small for how much he’d had to pay for it. 

As Yennefer had instructed him to do, Jaskier ground the flower petals, wolfsbane, and crow’s eye together. He then added a few drops of cadaverine to moisten the mixture, creating a thick paste. Afterwards, he cleared a space on the floor of his room and drew a pentagram. The last step was to light five candles and place them at the edges of the star. 

Loud footsteps outside his door made him pause. He didn’t want anyone seeing what he was doing and asking questions, so he checked that the door was locked and moved a wooden chair under the handle just to make sure. 

Everything was in place. Jaskier took a deep breath and went over the strange words once more in his mind. He was not going to waste any more time waiting for the best sex of his life. 

He began to recite the spell aloud. 

As soon as the third word passed his lips, he felt the temperature in the room drop. After the fifth word, the candles that he’d lit so carefully went out with a hiss. On the eighth word, a bright glow began to emanate from the center of the pentagram he’d drawn on the floor. 

As Jaskier uttered the last word of the spell, the room exploded with a _CRACK_ and Jaskier was thrown backwards by the force. When he opened his eyes, he had to close them immediately because the glow of the demon in the circle was so bright. 

He slowly opened them again. From his vantage point on the floor, he was first greeted by a pair of worn black leather boots. He moved his gaze upwards, taking in tight black trousers and a broad expanse of bare abdomen that looked like it’d been sculpted by the gods. Jaskier wanted to lick each and every well-defined muscle. Two straps crossing over the demon’s chest held two swords, which Jaskier was not expecting to see, but he did love people who could hurt him. He forced his gaze to continue upwards, and took in a handsome face and silver-white hair that looked as soft as silk. Jutting out of the silver-white hair were two 15 centimetre red horns that Yennefer had already warned him about, so he wasn’t surprised, he was just _horny_. 

Jaskier grinned. The spell had worked and he’d summoned himself an incubus.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier finds out just what type of demon he _actually_ summoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [ravenclawkward](https://ravenclawkwardly.tumblr.com/) for the beta work and for the [brilliant cover art!](https://glittering-git.tumblr.com/post/626619095209656320/jaskier-slowly-opened-his-eyes-from-his-vantage)
> 
> This fic is complete and will be updated regularly.

The room stayed silent as Jaskier pulled himself to standing, the demon doing little more than glaring at him. It was an intimidating glare. And not intimidating in a sexy way, but in a threatening way that meant one should possibly be fearing for one’s life. Jaskier was never one to be cowed, though. 

“Hello, good sir. My name is Jaskier,” he said, bowing low with a flourish. “And what should I call you?” 

The demon grunted in response. 

“Names, so inconsequential,” he said, waving off the demon’s lack of response. Years of teaching and playing at court had prepared him well for filling silences. “Not when there are more interesting things we could be doing, now that you’re here.” He raised one eyebrow and indicated the more than serviceable bed that was behind the demon. 

The demon’s glare seemed to lessen at the mention of that. “You have a contract?” he asked in a gruff baritone. Jaskier couldn’t suppress the shiver at the sound of it. 

“You could call it that.” Jaskier winked. It made sense that the demon thought about sex as a contract—he did need it to live, after all. “I take it that you’re interested?” 

The demon gave him a sharp nod. 

“Well, let’s get started then, shall we?” Jaskier started to take the first step towards the demon, the tantalizing thought of pressing all that skin against his own at the forefront of his mind.

The demon started to take a step backwards. 

Jaskier’s heart leapt with joy. There was nothing quite like a game of cat and mouse as foreplay. He took another step forward. The demon stepped back. He stepped forwards. The demon tried to take a step back, but was stopped by the edge of the pentagram. 

“I’ve caught you now,” Jaskier said with glee, advancing into the pentagram and reaching up to put his arms around the demon’s very wide shoulders. 

The demon tried to hold up his arms in surrender and a plea escaped his lips. “Please, no.” 

The whispered refusal sent chills down Jaskier’s spine and forced his body to stop moving. He only ever engaged with entirely willing partners, and this demon did not seem willing. He took a few steps back. At the look of relief in the demon’s eyes, he took a few more steps, stopping when he hit the chair blocking the door. He sat down. 

The demon was still silent and Jaskier could see how uncomfortable he was by the tightness in his body.

“It’s because I’m a bard, isn’t it?” Jaskier asked glumly. He’d been so sure that this was going to be a memorable experience for all. 

“What? No,” the demon responded. 

“Then it’s because I’m a man?” He didn’t need to know the reason, but he’d feel a lot better if he did. “Or because I’m too old? Or too young? Or too—” 

“Jaskier,” the demon’s sharp voice cut him off. “What contract did you summon me to complete?”

“To have sex, of course.” It obviously wasn’t going to happen, which was unfortunate, but still. 

“Why?” Now the demon just looked confused. And Jaskier knew he shouldn’t be thinking it, but the confused demon was adorable. His nose scrunched up and his golden cat eyes went almost cross-eyed. 

“Um, because you’re an incubus? You need to have sex to live.” Jaskier felt like he shouldn’t have to explain this to a sex demon. “And I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” 

The demon shook his head slowly. “I’m not an incubus.” 

Jaskier just looked at him disbelievingly. Didn’t they have mirrors wherever he came from? He was a literal sex demon. He looked exactly as Yennefer had said he would, horns and everything. 

“I’m not,” the demon insisted. “I’m a witcher.”

“A witcher?” He vaguely remembered someone once mentioning witchers. 

“We’re mercenary demons,” the witcher explained. “People summon us to kill monsters.” 

“I didn’t summon you to kill any monsters,” Jaskier protested. He’d heard of them, of course, what bard worth his salt hadn’t? But he didn’t need a monster-slayer. “I summoned you for a very different reason.”

The witcher sniffed the air pointedly. “I know. It smells.”

“Hey, I bathed just yesterday.” He lifted one arm and stuck his nose under his armpit. He smelled fine, if a bit musky from his earlier efforts, but it wasn’t enough to offend someone else’s senses. Unless that someone was a witcher, apparently. 

“Can I send you back?” Jaskier had no need for a witcher who was offended by his smell. He had no monsters that needed to be killed. And even though he wouldn’t have said no to a night spent like he’d originally planned, the witcher was clearly not interested. 

“No.”

Jaskier waited for more explanation, but none came. 

“Why not?” he prompted. 

“Once I’ve been summoned, I have to complete the contract.” 

“But I don’t have a contract for you,” Jaskier protested. “So does that mean you can go?”

The witcher hmm’d. 

“Well, let me try. Witcher, I have no contract for you. You’re free to go.”

Nothing happened. The witcher was still there. He looked around the room and took a cautious step backwards. He was able to leave the pentagram, but he hadn’t disappeared in a cloud of magic. “I told you it wouldn’t work.” 

“I had to try.” Jaskier shrugged. “ _I_ don’t mind being stuck with _you_ , but _you_ seem to mind being stuck with _me_.” 

The witcher sighed. 

“Will you at least tell me your name? If we’re to be spending a lot of time with each other?” 

The witcher thought about it for a moment. “Geralt,” he finally grunted. 

“Well, Geralt, I hope you like singing, because you’re going to be hearing a lot of it.” 

The witcher didn’t respond, which Jaskier was coming to expect. 

~~~  


Jaskier woke with a start. He looked around the room, trying to determine what had disturbed his sleep. His eyes landed on the demon—no, he’d called himself a witcher—sitting by the door. 

“Whaha,” he mumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

“It’s breakfast time. I’m starving.” 

The witcher, Geralt, looked much too awake for the early hour. Jaskier wanted to hit him. “It’s way too early, Geralt. I didn’t go to bed ‘til half past three. Let me go back to sleep.”

Geralt stood up and stalked towards Jaskier, and in his sleep-addled mind, his body took that to be a good sign. It didn’t help when Geralt reached the bed and grabbed hold of Jaskier’s shoulders, manhandling him to his feet.

“No. Food, now.” Geralt pushed Jaskier towards the door. 

“Wait, wait, at least let me put on some clothes,” Jaskier protested. “You may feel comfortable walking around half dressed, but I, for one, do not.” 

The witcher was harder to read than most, but if Jaskier had to guess, he’d say that he was sheepish. He’d reached one hand behind his neck and wouldn’t meet Jaskier’s eyes. 

“It’s just these,” he said, indicating the horns on his head. “They make it hard to put a shirt on.” 

Had the man never heard of shirts that buttoned? But Jaskier wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that. Deny himself such a view? No, thank you. 

“No need for an explanation, Geralt. You’ll hear no complaints from me about your lack of dress.” 

Geralt just grunted and continued to stare at Jaskier pointedly. Jaskier took the hint and got dressed. “I’ll be back with food.” He moved the chair from where it blocked the door and went down the stairs. 

He came back with a simple meal of barley bread and porridge and they both sat on the side of the bed to eat it. Jaskier was curious about the witcher’s eating habits, but he didn’t want him to feel like he was being ogled, so he surreptitiously watched out of the corner of his eye. The witcher ate quickly, but he was very neat, breaking small pieces of bread and dipping them in the porridge.

“So, what are we supposed to do now?” Jaskier asked. “I wasn’t joking last night when I said you’re going to hear a lot of singing. I’m a bard; it’s what I do. And since it’s springtime, I’m going to be travelling around, singing for my keep.” Geralt’s presence wasn’t unwelcome, but he didn’t know how his usual patrons would feel about a brooding, half-naked witcher accompanying him. 

“I can kill monsters.” Geralt seemed to perk up at the thought.

“I thought you only killed monsters when you’d been summoned by someone to do so.” 

“Usually, but if they’re bothering people and I’m around…” Geralt trailed off and shrugged. 

“You’re a demon with a heart of gold,” Jaskier crowed. 

Geralt glowered but didn’t deny it. 

Jaskier heard a loud pop, and a second later, a small scroll fell into his open palm. This wasn’t the first time he’d received a message from a mage, so he’d known what the popping sound meant. He carefully unrolled the scroll and scanned the message.

> _To Jaskier, the bard:_
> 
> _It is with great pleasure that I write to invite you to sing at Pavetta’s 15th birthday. The celebration will occur on the first of May. No response is required. We hope that you can attend._
> 
> _Yours truly,  
>  Mousesack_

“How do you feel about a birthday celebration, Geralt?”

“Yours?” 

“No, it’s for the princess of Cintra, Pavetta. Her mother, Queen Calanthe, is hosting the party.” Oh, it would be good to go back. Jaskier always loved playing for Queen Calanthe’s court. The wine was delicious, the food decadent, and the queen herself resplendent. 

“I’ve met her before.” 

“You have? When?” Jaskier was sure that the witcher had many stories to tell and he was eager to hear them all. Maybe he could compose a few songs about it if he asked nicely? 

“It was a long time ago.” 

“Well, I’d love to hear more about it, if you ever want to share.”

Geralt hmm’d. 

“We’ve got a few weeks to get to Cintra, so we could journey there, singing and monster slaying as we go, making a grand adventure of it all.” 

The witcher’s expression did not change much, just a slight head tilt and raised eyebrow, but Jaskier could tell that he was not thrilled by the idea. Well, that was unfortunate, because they were stuck together. 

“I can see that the idea excites you down to your very core, Geralt,” Jaskier teased. “Which is a good thing, since we’re stuck together. So let’s pack up and leave this shit town.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are ♥
> 
> I love making new friends on [Tumblr](http://glittering-git.tumblr.com/) and [Dreamwidth!](https://glittering-git.dreamwidth.org/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt travel to Vizima and learn some things about each other along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [ravenclawkward](https://ravenclawkwardly.tumblr.com/) for the beta work and for the [brilliant cover art!](https://glittering-git.tumblr.com/post/626619095209656320/jaskier-slowly-opened-his-eyes-from-his-vantage)
> 
> This fic is complete and will be updated regularly.
> 
> Content warning: A character is injured in this chapter and so there are mentions of blood.

Travelling with Geralt was not exactly like what he’d expected after their initial meeting. Geralt was quiet, yes, but Jaskier was starting to find his silences comforting. He rarely complained when Jaskier prattled on about his old tutor or the expansive countryside or anything else that struck his fancy, which was more than Jaskier could say about many of his previous partners. And when Geralt did choose to respond verbally, Jaskier always found himself surprised by what he had to say. One time, Geralt shared a story about a dragon he’d freed instead of killing, as his contractor had wanted. When asked why, Geralt had shrugged and said it was all a misunderstanding and the dragon wasn’t hurting anyone. 

After that first day, Jaskier had grown used to Geralt walking around half-naked. Or rather, he’d realized the importance of keeping his inappropriate reactions to himself. He’d teased Geralt about them being stuck together, but Jaskier didn’t actually want to make him uncomfortable. 

Not how Geralt was currently making the patrons of the local inn uncomfortable. 

They were in a small village about a half day’s walk from Hagge and Jaskier had just finished playing a few songs. Geralt had walked in covered in blood and guts, and everyone was staring at him in horror. He’d warned Jaskier that killing the selkiemore would be messy, but Jaskier thought he’d not put enough emphasis on just how much.

When no one said anything, Jaskier couldn’t help but break the silence. “There’s a mud puddle out front if you want to go roll around, just to make sure every centimetre of you is cov—”

“Get out of here, witcher,” the alderman interrupted. “You’re filthy. I’m not paying you to dirty this inn.”

Jaskier waited a beat, hoping that Geralt would defend himself. He’d done the village a favour by taking out the selkiemore, for fucks sake. But when he only turned as if to leave, Jaskier couldn’t help but speak up once more. “You haven’t paid him anything, yet. And we won’t be leaving until you do.” He strung his lute over his shoulder and strode over to Geralt, placing one hand lightly on his gut-covered arm and turning him to face the alderman. 

“How do I know you’ve killed it?” the alderman protested. “I don’t see any corpses around here.” 

Geralt made a sound that Jaskier wouldn’t call a snort, at least not to his face. “It’s dead at the bottom of the lake. Didn’t really want to go diving for it.” 

“So now I have to drain the lake, witcher? That’s not what we agreed upon.” 

“You’ll know it’s dead when villagers stop dying.” 

“You heard him. Give us our money and there won’t be any trouble,” Jaskier threatened. Although he knew he didn’t look like much, his father had done one thing for him at least—he’d insisted that Jaskier be trained in sword fighting. And now he had a witcher to back him up. 

The alderman grumbled but took out his coin purse, counting out far too few and dropping them into Jaskier’s outstretched palm. Jaskier cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the pitiful pile. The alderman put a few more coins on top, and Jaskier smiled. 

“Was that so difficult?” he asked, making no effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “We’ll be on our way. Thanks for the stellar hospitality, not.” Now that they’d gotten what they wanted, he was ready to get out of there. He tightened his grip on Geralt’s arm and steered them towards the door. 

When they were outside, he removed his hand and surreptitiously wiped guts on his trousers. 

“Fuck, Geralt. Are they always like that?” 

Geralt nodded slowly. 

“Even the ones who summon you?” 

He nodded again.

“That’s a shit way to treat someone who’s doing you a favour,” Jaskier pointed out. 

Geralt shrugged. “They don’t see me as a person.” 

“Bullshit. You’re more human than any of them.” In the week that Jaskier had spent with Geralt, he knew that he was a good person, far better than that alderman. But by Geralt’s quiet acceptance, he could tell that Geralt was used to such treatment. 

“Jaskier, please,” Geralt said, a pleading note in his voice, “just let me get cleaned up. It’s no use arguing.” 

Jaskier sighed. He knew there wasn’t any point in continuing the discussion, as Geralt wouldn’t listen to what he said, but he wasn’t going to forget the way the others had treated Geralt. He was going to do his best to show him that not all humans were so vile. 

“Fine, I’ll let it go. For now,” he added. “Where do you want to get cleaned up?”

“I’d prefer a hot bath, but that’s obviously not an option.” Geralt sighed. “I can just go back to the lake.” 

“The lake with the dead selkiemore?” Jaskier clarified. There had to be better options to choose from. 

“The corpse won’t bother me.” Geralt turned and started walking, and Jaskier had no choice but to follow. 

~~~

Geralt had wanted to skip Vizima entirely, but as a bard, Jaskier couldn’t give up the chance to play for people in the Trade Quarter. So they’d made sure that their journey to Cintra took them through the Temerian capital. 

No longer under a strict quarantine, people and goods were flowing steadily in and out of the city. Jaskier and Geralt found themselves at one of the gates leading into the Trade Quarter and were immediately stopped by one of the guardsmen. 

“Hey, you, who goes there?” a guard yelled, striding over to where Geralt and Jaskier had stopped. 

“Jaskier, the bard, at your service.” Jaskier bowed deeply. The guard ignored him—he was too focused on Geralt. 

“You there,” the guard said, poking Geralt in the shoulder with his mace. “We don’t need any trouble from your kind.”

“Hey,” Jaskier protested, moving to step in front of Geralt. “He’s with me. We won’t be of any trouble if you move that out of our faces and let us be on our way.” 

The guard stared hard at Jaskier, and Jaskier stared right back. He wasn’t backing down from a man who abused his power to intimidate.

“I’ll be watching you,” the guard menaced, but he stepped back to let them through. 

As they moved towards the gates, Jaskier could hear the guard saying to the others: “That demon can’t even put a shirt on. Half-dressed, like some kind of feral beast.” And if Jaskier could hear it, that meant Geralt could, too. Jaskier had learned that all of Geralt’s senses were heightened, but his hearing was especially acute.

“Just ignore them, Geralt. They’re not worth the energy to hate.” He’d had lots of experience with men like that, who got off on the power they wielded over others. He’d learned that ignoring them was the best way to handle them, because they got bored when their plaything didn’t respond in fear. 

Geralt was silent as they walked. Jaskier could tell that he was trying to make himself look smaller and less-threatening, which was challenging because he was a big witcher. And despite this effort, many people were giving Geralt harsh stares, some even going so far as to spit on the ground. Jaskier had to stop himself from hurting someone because Geralt just took it silently, as if he thought he deserved it. 

When they arrived at The Seven Stars, Jaskier hoped there wouldn’t be any further issues. He knew the innkeeper, so was usually able to play in exchange for room and board. 

“All I’ve got for you is your usual room,” the innkeeper was saying. “I don’t have a room with two beds.” 

“It’s alright. I’ll just sleep on the floor,” Geralt responded. 

“No one will be sleeping on the floor,” Jaskier promised. “Are you sure there’s nothing else?” he pleaded, giving the innkeeper his best puppy dog look. 

“I’m sorry, but there’s not.” 

Jaskier sighed and took the key from the innkeeper. He trudged up the stairs, Geralt close behind him. When he opened the door to their room, he was unsurprised to see only one bed. It’s not as if one would’ve magically appeared. 

Up to this point, they’d always managed to find a place with two beds, or there was that one time they’d had to sleep outside. But it wasn’t the same as staying in a room together. Jaskier didn’t think it’d be a problem, but he didn’t want Geralt to feel uncomfortable. 

“I really don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” Geralt said again. “I usually don’t sleep much anyways. The people who summon me usually require me to keep watch during the night.” 

“No, I’m not making you sleep on the floor like a dog,” Jaskier insisted. Just because Geralt had been treated a certain way in the past did not mean he should see that as acceptable behaviour. “We can share the bed. And you can sleep, as well. You don’t need to be up all night watching over me.” 

Geralt had a strange look on his face, as if Jaskier was a complex maths equation he was trying to solve. “Why?” he asked simply. 

“Because you deserve better than that.” 

“I’m not human, Jaskier,” Geralt explained, as if that justified others’ behaviour towards him. 

“That doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve basic decency.” 

“I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” 

Jaskier chose to take that as a compliment. “And you’ll probably never meet anyone like me again.”

~~~

Jaskier loved the last part of the journey to Cintra the most. There was nothing quite like the peace of the Yaruga river in the springtime, all the flowers in bloom and the water flowing clearly and coldly.

He’d taken out his lute and a notebook and was working on his new composition about a bard who falls in love with a demon. For obvious reasons, he’d taken care not to sing it around Geralt, because, well, he hadn’t wanted him to get the wrong idea. It’s not like the song was based on his own life. He was a bard—it was his job to take liberties with the subject matter. 

And oh what liberties he wanted to take with Geralt. Sharing a bed in Vizima hadn’t been quite as embarrassing as he’d thought it would be, but he’d still woken in the morning tangled up in Geralt’s limbs. It seemed that the witcher was cuddly in sleep and liked to grab hold of any unsuspecting bedmates. Jaskier hadn’t minded, of course. 

_Oh, if it were to be that simple_  
If one look were all it took  
To be like lovers in a book 

It definitely needed work, but the tune of the chorus was there. _Dah doom dah doom da dee ooom_. 

Jaskier was startled out of his composition reverie by a loud splash. He looked up and was horrified to find a body half-covered in blood lying face down in the shallow riverbed. He dropped his lute and notebook and ran over to the river. 

“Hey, let me help you,” he said, reaching a hand out to grab a shoulder so that he could flip the man over. But the man was too heavy. Jaskier could only ineffectually push until the man heaved with a groan and flopped on his back. 

Now that Jaskier could see the man’s face, and his horns, he realized that he knew him. “Geralt? What happened?” 

Lying on his back, Jaskier could tell that the blood was coming from the side of Geralt’s head, just below his left horn. He was trying to put pressure on the wound and grimacing, but the blood was still flowing freely. Jaskier tried to put his hands over Geralt’s to help staunch the flow, but Geralt made an abruptive movement that had Jaskier stopping in his tracks. 

“My bag,” he managed to get out through gritted teeth. 

Jaskier jumped up and ran to the bank, where both their packs were sitting from where they’d dropped them earlier. He grabbed Geralt’s pack, but he didn’t know what he was looking for. 

“Where, Geralt?” he asked desperately, dragging the bag into the water. 

Geralt tried to get up to look, but he couldn’t. He slipped back into the water with a sigh, letting his hands fall to his side. 

“This is nice,” he whispered, and Jaskier knew they didn’t have much time. He started digging frantically through the pack, throwing Geralt’s belongings aside as he searched. 

“Tell me, you fool,” he cried, when he reached the bottom of the bag and still had found nothing that could help.

“On the side.” 

Fuck, of course it was the last place he’d thought to look. He reached into the side of Geralt’s bag and pulled out a wide assortment of bottles. 

“The gold one,” Geralt mumbled when Jaskier brought them all close to his face. 

Jaskier pulled the bottle filled with golden liquid and set the others on Geralt’s pack. He uncorked the bottle and brought it up to Geralt’s lips. 

“You’ll have to lift your head a bit to drink it.” Jaskier reached his other hand around the back of Geralt’s head so he could gently cradle it in his lap. He poured the liquid into Geralt’s slightly open mouth and tried to wait patiently. 

“You need to see a healer,” Jaskier insisted after three seconds. He’d tried to be patient, but it was not one of his virtues.

“I’ll heal,” Geralt said softly. “I just need to rest.” 

“What happened?” 

“Got in a fight. You should see the other man.” 

Jaskier let out a desperate laugh. He couldn’t stop himself from running a hand through Geralt’s matted and bloodied hair. “But you’ll be okay?”

Geralt started doing what Jaskier could only describe as _purring_. “Uh hmm. Knew you’d help me.” 

Jaskier was floored. He knew how he felt about Geralt, how he no longer thought of him as just some witcher, but, more embarrassingly, as _his_ witcher. But he hadn’t thought that Geralt had felt the same way. He was going to make Geralt talk about this, as soon as he was healed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt attend a ball. Nothing goes quite as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [ravenclawkward](https://ravenclawkwardly.tumblr.com/) for the beta work and for the [brilliant cover art!](https://glittering-git.tumblr.com/post/626619095209656320/jaskier-slowly-opened-his-eyes-from-his-vantage)
> 
> This fic is complete and will be updated regularly.
> 
> Thanks to [this Tumblr post](https://ringerill.tumblr.com/post/619085229138853888/how-to-shorten-jaskiers-name) for info about what Jaskier’s nickname would be following Polish conventions.

Making Geralt talk about the attack that day on the Yaruga had gone about as well as Jaskier had expected—it hadn’t. He’d tried, repeatedly, after Geralt had had time to rest and recover, but Geralt had been less responsive than usual. It didn’t matter how many times Jaskier turned his best pleading looks on him, he still wouldn’t talk. He’d ignored his looks and pleas all the way to Cintra, so Jaskier was going to approach the topic differently. 

But that was a conversation for after the ball, since they now had to prepare to greet the Lioness of Cintra and her court.

They’d arrived at the Cintran palace a few hours ago and had been escorted to a beautiful suite of rooms. Geralt was sat in the bath, basking in its warmth. As usual, Jaskier was watching Geralt, loath to disturb his peace but knowing that they didn’t have much time until they had to be dressed and ready. 

Geralt opened one eye lazily and gestured to the soaps Jaskier had set out by the bath. 

“Yes, I’ll wash your hair, you big fool.” Jaskier couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Geralt always liked it when Jaskier washed his hair but never seemed to be able to vocalize his needs. But that was okay—Jaskier knew from experience how hard it was to ask. 

He grabbed the lye soap that had been scented with lavender—his choice, of course—and started to gently lather it into Geralt’s hair. At the beginning, it’d taken a lot of concentration to avoid poking himself with Geralt’s horns, but now, he could do it without a second thought. So, he let his hands work through Geralt’s hair and let his eyes wander shamelessly over Geralt’s body. 

The bathwater was soapy and clouded, so he couldn’t see far below Geralt’s pectorals, but it was still a sight to behold. Especially now, when everything was slippery and wet. Rivulets of water sluiced down Geralt’s smooth chest, making Jaskier want to trace each path with his tongue. 

But it was the blissful expression on Geralt’s face that truly took Jaskier’s breath away. He’d learned to read the witcher’s microexpressions—he’d seen him angry, in pain, and sad, but he’d rarely seen him content or happy. And it was a true shame, because a happy Geralt radiated tranquility like the last rays of the setting sun, bathing everything in a warm glow. 

Geralt’s throat clearing broke Jaskier out of his musings. “You’re too quiet, bard.” 

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll hurry up.” Jaskier flailed about as he rushed to finish washing Geralt’s hair, managing to get enough soapy water on himself in the process to forgo his own bath. When he was done, Geralt stood up quickly, and Jaskier had to occupy his hands with grabbing Geralt’s clothes so that he didn’t embarrass himself. 

Geralt was in the process of putting on his trousers when he frowned. “These aren’t mine.” 

“They’re new. I didn’t think it’d be a good idea for you to go to greet the Cintran court in your usual fare.” 

“Hmm.” But he continued to pull on the trousers, so Jaskier took it as tacit acceptance. He focused on dressing himself. Because he’d purchased the trousers for Geralt, he’d forgone his own new outfit. So, he was pulling something together from his daily wardrobe. He chose a doublet that was light blue with a fine silver pattern on its shoulders and a pair of trousers to match. 

Once they were both dressed, Jaskier covered from shoulder to toe and Geralt from hip to toe, his usual straps crossing his chest, they summoned an usher. The usher led them to the main hall where the ball was already in full swing. 

Geralt hesitated at the entrance to the room, his expression becoming anxious. Jaskier thanked the usher absentmindedly, already turning his mind to the task of comforting Geralt. He gently pushed Geralt back into a small alcove near the tall doors of the entryway. 

“What is it?” he asked softly. 

Geralt took a deep breath and shuddered slightly. “There’s so many people in there, Jaskierek. It’s overwhelming.” 

Jaskier knew Geralt had enhanced senses, but sometimes he didn’t realize just how bad it could get. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Jaskier took a step closer, not wanting to crowd Geralt, but hoping to give him something solid to focus on. Geralt took a step towards him, and they were so close that Jaskier could see the flecks of amber in his eyes. He was mesmerized, but too soon, Geralt closed his eyes and buried his nose in Jaskier’s neck. 

Jaskier inhaled sharply, which caused Geralt’s body to tense, and _no, they couldn’t have that._ He cautiously reached one arm up around Geralt’s shoulders, and waited. After a breath, he put his other arm up and squeezed lightly. Geralt’s body relaxed completely and Jaskier had to sternly remind himself that this was not the time to be focusing on the way that Geralt’s body felt pushed against his own, but it was something he’d definitely be returning to in the near future. 

Geralt stepped out of Jaskier’s space and gave an embarrassed thank you. Jaskier wasn’t having any of that. He reached out and gripped Geralt’s chin firmly, forcing his head up so he could look directly into his eyes. 

“Don’t feel sorry about taking what you need from me, Geralt. I will never judge you nor make you feel ashamed.” Geralt tried to move his head, but Jaskier held it in place. “Now, I know this isn’t going to be easy, but I think it’ll be best if you stay close by.” Geralt nodded his assent as much as he could with Jaskier gripping his chin. 

“And if it becomes too much, you let me know, and we’ll get out of there.” 

~~~

The ball had been quite a jolly affair—Jaskier’s new song about monster hunting had been a hit—and Geralt had even managed to relax a bit by the end. When they’d first entered the hall, a few of the guests had stared, but most had better manners than that. The Lioness of Cintra didn’t keep people who were easily frightened by her side for long. Geralt had even received a warm welcome from a few, such as Mousesack and even the guest of honour herself, Calanthe. 

By the time the ball was finished, Jaskier had had a few glasses of wine and was a bit unsteady on his feet. Geralt, who’d told Jaskier that he couldn’t get drunk, had had at least four pints and was a steady presence by his side. 

“Careful there,” Geralt said, slinging an arm over Jaskier’s shoulder to keep him from swaying too much. They’d stepped out of the castle for some fresh air and had wandered to the edge of the nearby forest. 

“You know how happy I am to have summoned you, right?” Jaskier might be blinkered, but he needed to tell Geralt how he felt. 

Geralt said nothing, only tightened his arm. 

“I know, I know.” Jaskier attempted to hold his hands up. “You don’t like talking about anything that skirts within 30 kilometres of feelings, but I need you to know how important you’ve become in my life.” Jaskier shrugged off Geralt’s arm and turned so that he was facing Geralt. “My dear witcher.” 

Geralt looked like Jaskier had smacked him in the face with a large ball. 

“Jaskierek,” he cried out in alarm, reaching over his shoulder to draw his silver sword. Silver for monsters, Jaskier remembered, and froze. “You need to turn around and slowly back away.” 

Jaskier had already started turning around, desperate to see the monster. A 2-metre-tall humanoid figure was stalking towards them, but the creature was like nothing Jaskier had ever seen before. Instead of a head, there was a skull with an elongated nose, and rising from the skull were antlers that added at least another 1.5 metres. As the creature got closer, Jaskier could see that instead of having skin or fur like an animal, there was tree bark. And its arms were nothing more than long branches. It looked like the forest itself had come to reckon. 

And to complete the image, flying above the creature’s antlers was a murder of crows. It looked like they’d come to feast. 

“What is it?” 

“A leshen,” Geralt responded grimly. “They’re very hard to kill.” He started stalking towards the monster. “Now get out of here, Jaskier.” 

“No.” Even though Jaskier wanted nothing more than to run, he was not going to leave Geralt to fend for himself. 

“Please, Jaskier,” Geralt pleaded, stopping in his tracks and turning around to look at Jaskier. “I need you to be safe, please.” 

It was the please that convinced him “I’ll stay here. I promise.” 

Jaskier heard a whispered thank you and then Geralt was on his way to fight the leshen, silver sword drawn. He’d never properly seen Geralt fight, but _he_ sure wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that blade.

As Geralt approached the leshen, the crows started diving, talons and sharp beaks aimed at tender flesh. But with a quick wave of his hand, Geralt cast a protective barrier. 

“Go Geralt, go,” Jaskier whispered. The leshen didn’t know what was coming for it. 

But as Geralt and the leshen neared one another, the forest floor began to shake. Jaskier had to strain his eyes to see, but it looked like the leshen was holding its branch arms down and doing something? Soon, it was obvious, as the tree roots rose and Geralt had to drop his shield and roll away. 

“Not bad, witcher,” said a low and gravelly voice, which Jaskier realized had to be the leshen. “But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to beat me.” 

Geralt stood up and raised his sword once again. “I was simply warming up, leshen. Amateur hours are over. ”

The leshen laughed, and it was a laugh that rustled like a snake slithering through a pile of dry leaves. “So be it, boy.” 

Jaskier’s heart was pounding and he wanted to scream, and that laugh did not reassure him. That laugh spoke of a history of conquering and dominating foes, and Jaskier was worried about Geralt. He started moving slowly towards the two.

_Sorry, Geralt,_ he thought, _but you’ll just have to forgive me._

The leshen and Geralt were circling each other slowly, the leshen growing out its arms into fine branches and waving them in front of Geralt as if it were teasing. Geralt was creating small fires that were burning the branches, and the leshen was pulling them away, but it was still chuckling. 

“This is way more fun than I was led to believe. It’s been too long since I’ve fought a witcher.” The leshen had stopped moving, and Geralt was eyeing it warily. “But it’s not you I’m after.” 

While Geralt and the leshen had been so focused on each other, Jaskier had snuck up. He was standing just to the right of the leshen, ready to do _something_ once the time was right. But, his grand plans of helping Geralt were foiled when a growing tree branch wrapped itself around his middle and hauled him up. 

“I’m after this one,” the leshen said gleefully, beginning to tighten the branch around Jaskier’s stomach. “He’s the one who’s been defiling my woods.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt find out what really happened in the leshen’s forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [ravenclawkward](https://ravenclawkwardly.tumblr.com/) for the beta work and for the [brilliant cover art!](https://glittering-git.tumblr.com/post/626619095209656320/jaskier-slowly-opened-his-eyes-from-his-vantage)
> 
> This fic is complete and will be updated regularly.

“Defiling your woods?” Jaskier asked, trying to crane his neck around so that he could look the leshen in its hollow eyes. “I’ve never been in these woods before.”

“That’s not what the woodland creatures tell me.” The leshen shook its ghastly head back and forth. “They’ve picked up your scent at every place my forest has been harmed. Their noses don’t lie.” 

“Well, I’m not a liar, either, and I say that I’ve never been here before,” Jaskier protested. 

The leshen sighed. “Of course you’d say that. Men who’d harm an innocent forest have no honour. I know because I’ve dealt with your kind before.” 

“My kind? What do you mean? And I have some honour. Maybe it’s not a lot, but still.” Jaskier knew that he should shut his mouth, but he couldn’t seem to stop talking. “Geralt, tell the creature.” 

Geralt had been watching them both with avid eyes, but had not yet advanced. “I am not defending you when you disobeyed my explicit orders and now I have to save your sorry arse.” 

“I am sorry to disappoint you, witcher, but there’ll be no heroic saving tonight.” The leshen curled its branch arm so that Jaskier was now staring directly in its eyes. “They told me to take care of the bard however I deemed best.” 

Jaskier did not like the menacing aura that was coming off the leshen like smoke from a fire. He trusted Geralt with his life, but it didn’t seem like fighting would get them out of this. So talking it was. “You keep mentioning this mysterious ‘they.’ If you’re doing their bidding, I think that it’s only fair that we know who they are.” 

The leshen considered that for a moment. “I suppose, if I’m just going to kill you both, there’s no harm in telling. They didn’t promise me to secrecy, after all.” 

“Who was it then?” Jaskier prompted. 

“The woodland creatures really had picked up your scent, but it was Hugh Swift who named you. He told me that if I came out on the first of May, I’d catch you, but that you’d have a witcher with you. He didn’t mention it’d be Geralt of Rivia, but that simply makes it more fun.”

The name Swift sounded vaguely familiar, but Jaskier couldn’t quite remember where he’d heard it before. 

“And, as if killing the one who had been defiling my forest wasn’t enough, they offered to pay tribute on top of it. He really wanted you dead.”

Jaskier finally remembered how he knew Swift’s name. He’d slept with his partner when he’d last been in Cintra. They’d gone one round and were gearing up for a second when Swift came back early and caught Jaskier _in flagrante_. 

“I think there’s been a mistake. I swear on my life’s work as a bard that I have never defiled any woods.” When this did not elicit the surprised gasp that Jaskier was hoping for, he continued to fill the silence. “I’ve defiled a few other things—countesses, whores, nobles, but never a forest.” 

The leshen did not look convinced nor amused. 

“And I know for a fact that Swift holds a grudge against me and this is probably his form of revenge.”

“What do I care about revenge? You hurt my forest. You will pay the price.” And with those final words, the leshen began to move in the direction that it had come from.

“I can’t let you do that,” Geralt spoke up, and Jaskier’s heart soared. Everything was going to be fine. The leshen started moving faster, not running, exactly, more like using its roots to propel itself forward. 

“Stop,” Geralt called, a small flame hovering in his hand, “Or I’ll light this forest to high heaven.”

The leshen stopped. 

“You want to catch the person who has been defiling your forest. That’s not Jaskier.” 

_Words,_ Jaskier thought. _He’s going about this with his words? Oh fucking cock, I’m in trouble._

“If you don’t believe me, kill him.” 

_Thanks a lot, Geralt._

“But even after you do that, your forest will still be harmed, because Jaskier is not the culprit.” 

While the leshen considered Geralt’s words, Jaskier tried to twist free, but the leshen’s grip was too tight. When the leshen didn’t respond, Geralt doubled the size of the flame in his hand. 

“That’s all the time we’ve got, I’m afraid,” Geralt said, slowly lowering his flame so that it now hovered just a few centimetres over the forest floor. “Let Jaskier go, or I release this, and we’ll all be toast.” 

That must have been a convincing argument to the leshen because it dropped Jaskier like a hot coal. Warm arms caught him before he could hit the ground. Geralt, his saviour. 

Geralt moved quickly, carrying Jaskier out of reach of the leshen, setting him down gently, and then conjuring the flame once again. 

“We can help each other,” Jaskier pleaded. “You can catch the person who is really responsible for hurting your forest, and I can walk away with my life.”

The leshen nodded its assent and Jaskier raised his arms in triumph. 

~~~

“So, how do we find Swift?” Jaskier asked. “How did he find you?”

“I didn’t find Swift. He found me.” The leshen trailed off, thinking. “But the woodland creatures have told me that he entered the forest from the eastern edge.”

“Lead the way,” Jaskier gestured grandly. Geralt would say he too often rushed headfirst into the unknown, but he did have some small sense of self-preservation.

“I can only take you to the edge of my forest—I can’t leave.” 

“That will be far enough,” Geralt grunted. “I should be able to track him from there.” 

The leshen did not respond but rather turned abruptly to the right. It didn’t wait for Geralt or Jaskier, but instead did its floating thing across the forest floor. They had to move quickly to keep pace, keeping an eye on the forest floor so as not to trip over errant tree roots. When Jaskier had dressed for the ball, he had not considered that he would be traipsing after a monster of the forest in the early morning hours. 

Before long, they were once again at the forest’s edge. 

“This is where Swift entered,” the leshen gestured. “I cannot go with you, but if you bring him back and he is the one who harmed my forest, I will deal with him.”

Jaskier had some compunctions about leaving Swift in the leshen’s grasp, even if he did try to have him killed, but he’d talk to Geralt later. 

“Can you find him?” Jaskier asked. 

Geralt nodded and ran his finger lightly along a tree trunk, bringing it up to his nose to sniff delicately. He bent down low and examined the forest floor, tilting his head to get a closer look. Jaskier took a sniff of the air but could detect nothing but the loamy forest scent. 

“There are two faint scents here, from a few days past.” 

The leshen nodded. “That is when Swift came and spoke to me. But the woodland creatures had been smelling the bard in the forest much earlier.” 

Geralt hmm’d. “We’ll be back shortly with the guilty party.” 

Jaskier nodded and moved to follow Geralt, who had already started striding out of the forest. He didn’t feel entirely comfortable turning his back on the leshen, because his body still screamed _monster_. But it helped to know that the leshen physically could not leave the forest. He resisted the urge to look back. 

“So, I didn’t know you could track people like a, shall we say, wolf,” Jaskier teased. He’d started to call Geralt the White Wolf, on account of his white hair and enhanced senses. He knew wolves didn’t have horns, but as a bard, he was taking artistic license. Geralt absolutely loathed the nickname, which only made Jaskier want to use it more. 

“I’m still mad at you.” 

“Oh, so we’re talking about our feelings, are we? It only took a near-death experience to bring us here.” 

“This isn’t the time for jokes, Jaskier. I’m being serious. You could have died.” Geralt’s voice was doing something complicated, as if he was having trouble processing the thought of Jaskier’s death. Which was flattering. Who knew the bastard cared?

“But I didn’t,” Jaskier said brightly. “Besides, I couldn’t leave you alone to face the leshen. Not after you’d told me how hard they were to fight.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt stopped, causing Jaskier to run into him. Jaskier took a step back and Geralt turned around, his golden eyes boring deep into Jaskier’s soul. “Jaskierek, I need you to understand that I am a demon. I am trained to fight monsters. You,” he began, reaching out a hand and placing it gently on Jaskier’s shoulder in a gesture that was surprisingly comforting, “are human. I’m meant to protect you, not the other way around. I’ve never before had problems with humans jumping in front of danger for me.”

“What can I say? I’m special.” Jaskier said cheekily, shrugging his shoulders exaggeratedly. He was all for Geralt talking about his emotions, but he thought that acting as normal as possible might make it easier for him. 

Geralt only shook his head fondly. 

“You’ve never met someone quite like me, have you?” 

“No,” Geralt said simply. But Jaskier could tell he meant it as a compliment. 

“And you will probably never will again.” 

Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder and then turned back around, following a path that only he could sess. But Jaskier had seen the small smile on his face and it warmed him through. 

~~~

They found Swift in a small cabin that was not far from the edge of the woods. Geralt had used the scents he’d picked up and had not knocked, which Jaskier had thought was a bit rude. 

Swift had been incensed by their intrusion but quickly became fearful when he caught sight of Geralt. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, hands raised defensively. 

“Oh, I think you know,” Jaskier said breezily, stepping out of Geralt’s shadow. 

“You…” Swift raised his finger accusingly. “You bastard slept with my Ada. You deserve to be punished for that.”

“It takes two to tango,” Jaskier shot back. “I wasn’t the only one to make it happen. And besides that, Ada was the one who seduced me. I didn’t know she was married.”

“Jaskier, now is not the time to rehash this,” Geralt said curtly, stepping inside the cabin. Swift tried to step back but Geralt already had an arm around his waist and was lifting him over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing more than a small child. Jaskier almost swooned. Witcher strength was impressive, okay? “You coming?” 

“Yes, darling,” Jaskier responded, his brain to mouth filter off. When he realized what he’d said, he panicked. He didn’t _do_ cutesy nicknames for Geralt. Yes, Geralt sometimes called him “Jaskierek,” but that was only in a friend way. And that was okay, because they were just friends. Jaskier couldn’t forget that.

He hurried after Geralt, who had already made progress towards the forest, a protesting Swift held over his shoulder. 

They covered the distance quicker than they’d come, both eager to wash their hands of the whole affair. As they got closer to the forest, Swift began yelling in earnest. 

“You can’t bring me to the forest. That’s not fair,” he wailed. “Don’t you know what the leshen is going to do to me? You can’t leave me to its mercy.” 

When their only response was to keep moving, Swift’s cries got more desperate. “You’re a witcher, for Melitele’s sake. Isn’t it your job to protect humans?”

“It is my job,” Geralt bit out, “to protect the human that summoned me. And since you put that person in danger, it is now my duty to see justice served.” 

They’d reached the edge of the forest, and the leshen was standing, watching them. Its murder of crows was back, looking as menacing as ever. Now that he wasn’t the focus of the leshen’s ire, Jaskier felt moderately fond of the scary creature. It was simply defending its territory from being hurt again. Swift was clearly terrified out of his wits, banging on Geralt’s back, begging to be let down. 

“Swift,” the leshen said accusingly. “The witcher tells me that it wasn’t the bard who was harming my forest.” 

“No, no, it was him,” Swift argued. “His scent was all over—how could it be anyone else?”

The leshen considered this. “Put him down, witcher. I’d like to look him in the face.” 

Geralt set Swift down, none too gently, placing a large hand on his shoulder and forcing him to turn towards the leshen. Then he backed up a few steps, stopping next to Jaskier, both of them content to watch the drama unfold.

Swift was trembling and looked like he wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run. But as soon he even made an aborted movement, the leshen reached out its branch arms and rooted him in place.

“The thing about scent is that it can be deceiving,” the leshen explained, as if it were lecturing a small child. “I’m sure the witcher could tell you all about that.” 

“No, no, they promised me it would work,” he mumbled, speaking to no one but himself. But everyone could hear him. The forest was unnaturally silent. “Promised me that if _his_ scent was everywhere, there’d only be one logical conclusion to draw.” 

“Who promised you?” the leshen asked. 

“Oh, no one,” Swift said, pretending like he hadn’t said anything out loud. The leshen was not having it. It tightened its branch arms and Swift was soon crying out in pain. When he was still silent, the leshen continued to constrict its arms. 

“Fine,” Swift gasped out. The leshen loosened its grip a fraction, and waited. “Fine, it was me. I spoke to a mage about using a leshen to extract revenge. He told me exactly what I needed to do, what would make a leshen angry, and how to leave clues to point towards a specific person.” 

Jaskier could see how upset the leshen had become at the thought of being used. Its grip had tightened once again, and Swift was once more trying to draw breath. 

“You thought that you could use me?” the leshen bellowed. “Me, a monster of the forest, bent to the will of a mere human?”

_When you put it that way,_ Jaskier thought, _it sounded really bad._

Swift seemed to think so too, because he immediately started to change his tune. 

“Please, forgive me, kind sir,” Swift pleaded. “I realize now how much of a fool I was. I meant you no harm.” 

“No harm? You burned parts of my forest. It will take me years to heal. And all so that you could take petty revenge. Humans,” the leshen scoffed. “You’re the worst of the creatures I have to interact with.” 

Geralt was slowly pulling Jaskier away, but he resisted. “We can’t leave Swift to the leshen,” he protested. 

“He tried to have you killed,” Geralt said flatly. “It’s no more than he deserves. Besides,” Geralt continued, “choosing to involve a leshen puts it out of your control. The rules that govern human and monster interactions are far older than you or me. There’s nothing we could do, even if we wanted.” 

“Please,” Swift begged as they swiftly made their retreat. Jaskier tried to look back, but Geralt wouldn’t let him. 

“Trust me, Jaskier.” And Jaskier did, so he didn’t look back again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt look for a sorceress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [ravenclawkward](https://ravenclawkwardly.tumblr.com/) for the beta work and for the [brilliant cover art!](https://glittering-git.tumblr.com/post/626619095209656320/jaskier-slowly-opened-his-eyes-from-his-vantage)
> 
> This fic is complete and will be updated regularly.

After the leshen incident, life returned to normal. With nowhere specific to go, Jaskier wandered the continent, as he would normally do in the late spring. The only difference now was that he also had a witcher tagging along. And an overprotective witcher at that. 

“Geralt, please, I can manage the bath by myself, thank you very much.” It was the third time that Geralt had tried to assist him, and if Jaskier weren’t so annoyed, he’d find it endearing. 

Geralt nodded his assent, but he looked pained. “Yell if you need anything. Anything at all. I’ll be listening.” 

Jaskier gave him a small smile and closed the door between them. He knew that this was Geralt’s way of handling their near-death experience at the hands of the leshen, but a man needed to breathe. 

He undressed quickly and stepped into the steaming water, letting it soothe his tired muscles. A deep sigh escaped his lips and he leaned his head against the edge of the tub, dozing. 

Frantic yelling of his name woke him up with a start and he flailed about in the tub. 

“Jaskier, I am coming in there right now,” Geralt said as he turned the handle and flung the door wide. Jaskier stood and hopped out of the tub, wrapping a towel tightly around his waist.

“Geralt, that was unnecessary. I was completely fine.” He raised his hand to his brow and mimed looking around the room for danger. “There’s no one here but me.” 

“You stopped making noise. I had to make sure you were safe.” Geralt did not sound apologetic about his behaviour. 

“I was,” Jaskier insisted. “But I think we need to have a conversation. We can’t keep going like this.” 

Geralt nodded once and moved fully into the room, closing the door behind him. Jaskier turned and dropped the towel, quickly pulling a tunic over his head and putting on soft breeches. When he was fully dressed, he walked over to the bed and patted the seat next to him. 

Geralt had not moved from the doorway, but now he slowly walked over and sat on the bed, as far away as he was physically able to. 

“I know the leshen incident messed with your head, but you can’t always be my knight in shining armour.” One day soon, Geralt would move on with his life and Jaskier would be left to deal with the fallout. He had to prepare himself for the inevitable outcome. “While I do appreciate your protective efforts, you know that this can’t go on forever.” 

Geralt looked stricken, as if he hadn’t considered that this would end. But it was just a contract, and they both needed to remember that. 

“When does a witcher contract end, Geralt?” Jaskier asked gently, knowing, but needing Geralt to see it for himself.

“When I kill the monster.” 

“But you didn’t kill the monster this time, did you?” 

“No, but that shouldn’t matter.” Geralt paused, considering. “The contract is fulfilled when the monster threat is neutralized, which it was. In the past, I’ve done the same with a dragon.” 

“So is our contract complete?” Jaskier knew the answer, but he didn’t know why. 

“Do you want it to be complete?” Geralt fired back, the hurt evident in his tone.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Jaskier deflected. It didn’t matter what he wanted. What mattered was Geralt’s freedom. “Why isn’t the contract complete?”

“I don’t know.” 

“I don’t either,” he admitted. “I was hoping you would. Since you’re so much older and wiser than me,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood a bit. 

Geralt ignored the teasing. “There’s obviously something tying me here, to you. Normally, I can feel the contract break once the danger has been eliminated, but that’s not the case with you.” He hmm’d. “Maybe that explains why I have this need to protect you.” 

“Was it the summoning spell? Was there something different about the process?” Jaskier was grasping at straws, but he had to find a way to free Geralt. Even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. 

“No, I don’t think so, but you might be onto something.” Geralt had moved from protective knight to fervent detective in the span of a few breaths, and Jaskier selfishly wished that he could hold onto both forever. “This contract is anything but normal.” 

Jaskier’s heart both leapt at the praise and plummeted at the thought of actually providing a solution to their problems. It wasn’t a comfortable sensation. 

“Who gave you the spell?”

“Just some scary hot sorceress.”

Geralt’s face fell. “Yenn. Fuck.” 

“Wait, you know her?” Shit, how did Geralt know _her_? Had they slept together? Did he care if they did? Did he have a right to care? Now Jaskier wanted to simultaneously sleep with _and_ strangle Yennefer. 

“Yes, unfortunately.” Geralt grimaced, which did wonders to soothe Jaskier’s entirely unwarranted jealousy.

“Do you think she could have done this?” And if she had, why? 

“Yes, she most certainly could have.” Geralt shook his head in disapproval, rising from the bed to pace back and forth in front of the door. The movement caused the sun streaming through the open windows to bathe Geralt’s toned form in golden light, which momentarily distracted Jaskier from their current predicament. When Geralt grunted subtly cleared his throat, Jaskier blushed and made a concerted effort to bring his mind back to the task at hand. 

“Why would she do this?” he asked, trying to understand. 

“She thinks she’s important to me.” Geralt waved his hand dismissively. 

“What would give her that impression?”

Geralt shrugged. Jaskier was back to thinking that they had slept together, which, _hot_. But also, how could he ever stand a chance against someone like her?

“Let’s just go find her.” 

~~~

Yennefer, it turned out, was not an easy sorceress to find. The last time Geralt had seen her had been in Rinde, so with no better leads to follow, that’s where they went. It was an awkward week of travel, with both of them learning to navigate the new dynamics between them. Jaskier was living in a state of denial, at best, and at worst, he was moping at the thought of losing Geralt. Geralt seemed to be succeeding a little too well at keeping his distance from Jaskier, and Jaskier just wished it could all go back to the way it had been before the Cintran ball. 

And when they got to Rinde, no one there remembered her. Geralt had neglected to mention that it had been 70 years since he’d last seen her there. He didn’t seem to understand that that was almost a human lifespan. 

“So what do we do now?” Jaskier asked despondently. 

Geralt was silent. 

“You can’t keep sulking,” Jaskier snapped. “I’m trying to help _you.”_

“I didn’t ask for your help.” 

“Well, I didn’t ask to be stuck with you either,” Jaskier shot back. He was fucking done with Geralt’s attitude. He was doing this _for_ Geralt, goddamnit. And if Geralt couldn’t see that, then he’d just have to make him. “If Destiny could give me one blessing, it’d be to take you off my hands.” 

As soon as he said the words, Jaskier knew that he’d gone too far. Geralt had jerked his head up and was staring at Jaskier, the hurt clear in his eyes and in the way that he curled inwards as if expecting a physical blow. 

Jaskier wanted to shove the words back into his big mouth. He started to apologize, but Geralt interrupted him. 

“I promise, Jaskier. As soon as we find Yenn and I’m free, you won’t see me again.”

That’s not what Jaskier wanted, not at all. But, it was what was best for Geralt, and that was what mattered. So he sighed and nodded his head slightly in agreement, already turning his mind to their next move. 

Since they were in Redania, Jaskier insisted that they stop by Oxenfurt. He did so love the town in the early summer, when everything was covered in ivy and the place felt like something right out of a storybook. 

It was harder to enjoy the early summer with the way things were between them, but Jaskier was not a performer for nothing. 

Geralt fit in better at Oxenfurt than he would’ve expected, if that was something he ever thought about, which it wasn’t. He slid into life at the university with ease, content to train in the mornings and follow Jaskier around in the evenings, keeping a safe distance between them, as was quickly becoming normal for them. A few of Jaskier’s friends and colleagues commented on the witcher’s presence, mainly questions about how Jaskier had managed to bag such a beautiful lover—they all assumed sex would be the only reason someone like Geralt would tag along. Jaskier’d shut that line of questioning down quickly, but not before he’d turned bright red. He knew that Geralt could hear them, even if the conversations were whispered. 

It was a warm evening and Jaskier had just finished playing a set when Yennefer found them. A hush fell over the crowd and Jaskier knew who’d be there before he even looked up. 

She looked just as stunning as the first time he’d seen her—in a black dress that had a delicate lace collar, her eyes as piercing as ever. She strode into the place like she owned it, and from the barmaid’s awed stare, she just might’ve. 

“Hello, boys. I hear you’ve been looking for me,” she stated grandly, moving elegantly to slide into the seat next to Geralt at the edge of the bench. 

“You weren’t in Rinde,” Geralt accused.

“Oh honey, it’s been 70 years since we were last there. I know it’s hard for you immortal demons to keep track of time, but that’s more than some humans live. I’ve long since moved on.” She placed one arm around Geralt’s bare shoulder with practiced ease and patted it gently. “Although, sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday.” She winked and Jaskier’s heart sank. Of course they’d slept together. Destiny truly hated him. 

“Fix this,” Geralt demanded, shaking off Yennefer’s arm and standing slowly to make his words more menacing. Yennefer wasn’t cowed, though. She stared back equally as fierce. Jaskier could see what a beautiful pair they’d been, even though he hated to admit it.

“No ‘please’?” Yennefer asked, light and teasing, and Jaskier wanted to vomit. “I did this for your benefit, you know. I thought that you could use the chance to loosen up a bit. You always carry yourself so stiffly.” She shrugged. “So it didn’t work out like I’d hoped.”

“You thought you were helping me?” Geralt exploded with rage. “By taking away my freedom?” 

“I could have undone the spell at any point. You were never at risk.” 

“Then undo it now,” Geralt demanded. 

“Your bard hasn’t said anything. I think he likes the way things are now.” Yennefer smiled, giving Jaskier a sly glance. 

“Fuck no,” Jaskier protested vehemently. “You bound us together without our consent.” 

“Boo hoo,” she dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “So you had to spend some extra time with a devilishly handsome demon. A demon who, I might add, is way more attractive than any incubus I’ve ever been with.” Fucking cock, there was the confirmation he hadn’t wanted.

“I didn’t ask for a summoning spell for Geralt,” Jaskier explained slowly, as if that might help Yennefer understand why what she’d done had been wrong. “I asked for one for a sex demon.” 

“Geralt’s a demon who has sex,” Yennefer said in a blasé tone. “I don’t see what the problem is.” 

Melitele’s tits. Now Jaskier couldn’t stop thinking about Geralt and sex, which was not a productive line of thought. Not when Geralt didn’t have his full abilities to consent. He literally could not leave Jaskier.

“The problem is that Geralt can’t leave!” Jaskier exploded. “He fulfilled his witcher contract—he deserves to be free.” 

“Yenn, please,” Geralt pleaded softly. And damn if that “please” didn’t convince Jaskier that this was what Geralt truly wanted—to be free of him. “If this is your doing, please fix it. It’s not fair to either one of us.” 

“I can fix it.” Jaskier sagged with relief. “For a small price, of course,” she added pettishly. 

“You owe me,” Geralt protested. 

“For the djinn? For Rinde?” she asked disbelievingly. “Do not mistake your corrupted wish for anything more. I owe you nothing, Geralt of Rivia.”

“A monster. I’ll kill a monster of your choosing,” Geralt offered. 

“I can take care of my own monsters, thank you very much.” Yennefer brushed it off. “But you’ll pay me something else.”

“Anything,” Geralt promised. 

“Your bard,” she declared. 

“No,” Geralt’s response was immediate and adamant. “What could you want with him?” 

“His singing voice. I need it for an important spell.” She grabbed Geralt’s pint and took a dainty sip. “And besides, he owes me one.”

“Absolutely not,” Geralt repeated.

While Jaskier was heartened to hear Geralt’s defense, Yennefer had a point. He did owe her, even if she hadn’t followed through on her end of the deal. “What exactly would the process entail and how long would you need it for?” It was _his_ voice they were discussing, so he figured that he should have a say in the matter. If this was what it took to free Geralt, then he’d do it. It’d be worth it. 

“You can’t seriously be considering this.” Geralt turned his smouldering gaze on Jaskier, and Jaskier was almost gone. But he had to be strong in his resolve, especially if Geralt wasn’t going to be.

“If it’s what it takes, then yes,” he nodded, putting on a brave face.

“Yenn, you can’t be serious. It’s his life’s work.” 

“It’s not a painful process,” she countered. “It’s a simple spell and I’d only need his singing voice for a month.”

“Could I still talk?” It didn’t sound so bad, and if it was for Geralt, well? He’d do almost anything for him. 

“Yes, I wouldn’t want to deprive the world of your sunny disposition. You just couldn’t sing.” 

He’d have to figure out how to make a living, but he was resourceful. They were still at Oxenfurt, so he could tutor a few kids, and maybe teach a summer seminar. It’d work out. 

“I accept the terms, then,” Jaskier decided. Geralt looked wounded and opened his mouth to protest, but Jaskier held up a finger. “And since it’s _my_ singing voice, I’m the only one that gets a say.” 

“I thought you’d say yes,” Yennefer said with as much glee as she probably ever let herself express in public. “Oh don’t look so sad, Geralt. We all get what we want, no?”

Yennefer got what she wanted and so did Geralt, but Jaskier… Well, Jaskier would be mourning this loss for a while. 

~~~

Once Yennefer broke the spell that bound them together and took his singing voice, Jaskier didn’t want to stick around much longer. He was afraid of what he might see or what he might reveal. As soon as he could, he left. Geralt didn’t try to stop him, which was what he’d expected. He was the one who’d pushed Geralt away, and it was for the best. It had to be.

He slipped quietly back into his life at Oxenfurt, teaching a summer seminar on ballad composition and tutoring a few of his favourite students. It was a bit of a challenge to do either and not sing, but he managed, as he always did. One week he spun a story about having a minor summer cold. Another week he said he was saving his voice for an upcoming gig in Tretogor. 

A few of his bolder colleagues asked him if his sore throat was due to other reasons. They’d made a few crude gestures to accompany their questions, but Jaskier didn’t need them to know exactly what they meant. He’d winked and laughed it off, pretending affront at even the nerve of presuming such a thing. Normally, his colleagues wouldn’t have been too far off the mark.

But not this summer. 

He’d tried to sleep with other people. There was an old flame who taught in the philosophy department who was eager to pick things up where they’d left off that winter. Usually, Jaskier would be thrilled at the prospect. But he couldn’t enjoy it, not properly, and he quickly gave up. It wasn’t fair to his friend and occasional lover.

Damn Geralt for making him feel like this. Damn Yennefer for getting him in this situation. If he could turn back time and make it so that he’d never learned of sex demons, he’d do it in an instant. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. As much as it hurt to lose Geralt, it was better than to have never met him in the first place, which was the truly pathetic part. That was why he wished that he could just let himself move on in the arms of any one of his perfectly convenient ex-lovers. Geralt wasn’t pining after him—he was probably living in domestic bliss with Yennefer. 

But Jaskier knew with time, he’d get over Geralt. He had to. He couldn’t live the rest of his life pining after some demon whom he’d never even told how he felt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has a confession. Jaskier has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [ravenclawkward](https://ravenclawkwardly.tumblr.com/) for the beta work and for the [brilliant cover art!](https://glittering-git.tumblr.com/post/626619095209656320/jaskier-slowly-opened-his-eyes-from-his-vantage)
> 
> Thank you to the lovely readers and commenters! I loved seeing your thoughts - I hope this ending gives you everything you wanted :)

Two months had passed since Jaskier had last seen Geralt. He’d moved on. It was fine. Yennefer might have had something different to say, but she was a mean sorceress who often toyed with people’s lives in the name of “helping” them, and not to be trusted. At least she’d returned his voice to him as promised after a month, and he’d been able to return to his usual summer bardic wanderings. 

And if he sang a few more songs about heartbreak, who had to know why? 

He was passing through a town near Ard Carraigh when he got a strange message from the innkeeper. 

“Hey, you’re the bard that sings ‘Toss a Coin,’ right?” 

“Yes, who’s asking?” Jaskier responded warily. More often than not, his infamy led to more danger, not less. 

“There was a witcher here earlier, sniffing around for a bard. Said to tell you he was looking.”

Jaskier couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Geralt was back? How did he know he’d be here? He’d asked a random innkeeper to pass along a message? Was it a doppler? Should he be worried?

“Did he say if he’d be back?” 

“He didn’t say, but if you asked me, he will. There was something about him that just seemed lost.” The innkeeper had a soft look in his eyes. “Now, I know the kind of trouble witchers face, and they don’t deserve it one bit. This one was even more polite than my regular patrons. If you find him, you tell him I said that.” 

Jaskier nodded and thanked the man and then left the inn. His mind was churning and his heart, his stupid heart, was hoping against hope. He was trying to keep a realistic perspective. Maybe Geralt had left something important with Jaskier. But maybe, just maybe, he felt the same. 

He was meandering through a meadow that was not far from the inn when he felt someone’s gaze on his back. He stopped and turned, already knowing who he would see. Geralt looked as beautiful as the day Jaskier had first summoned him, the sun shining off his silver-white hair making him seem more angelic than demon-like. The horns did mar the image, but Jaskier wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. 

He started walking towards Geralt, not knowing what he was going to say, but hoping the words would find him soon enough. Geralt also started moving towards him at a more sedate pace, and considering how fast he could move, he was practically motionless, hesitant. 

Jaskier stopped a few metres from Geralt, not wanting to make him feel trapped, even though he’d been the one to seek Jaskier out. He didn’t want to drive him away so soon. 

When Geralt said nothing to break the silence, Jaskier blurted the first thing that came to mind, as per usual. “You’re wearing a shirt.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but well, he wasn’t operating at his best by any means.

Geralt looked embarrassed, the red flush spreading across his cheeks. “I’ve known about button downs for a long time,” he said sheepishly, one hand raised behind his head in an endearing gesture. “I don’t usually wear a shirt in Kaer Morhen, but it’s easy enough to get my hands on one when I’m summoned.”

“What?!” Jaskiers screeched. “Why did you not wear one at any point during the months we were travelling together? Why did you put up with all of the harrassing from people when you could’ve just put on a damn shirt?” People had been downright rude to Geralt, sometimes even comparing him to an animal. If he could have done one small thing about it, then why hadn’t he? Was he a masochist? 

“You liked it,” Geralt responded, as if it were that simple. “I could tell—elevated heart rate, higher temperature, the sweet smell of cinnamon. I liked making you happy.”

Jaskier was actually speechless, which rarely ever happened. Geralt had never explained the reasoning behind his actions so thoroughly, and that he’d done it for Jaskier, that he’d known all the time they were together? Why hadn’t he said anything earlier? 

“Jaskier, please say something,” Geralt pleaded. “Your silence is scaring me.”

“You can’t just say things like that,” Jaskier protested, waving his arms like a madman, “And expect me to know how to respond to them.”

“You always have something to say, Jaskierek. You even yelled at me that one time you were in the privy,” Geralt chuckled, and it was fond, and Jaskier must’ve been dreaming. Because _his_ Geralt would never chuckle. 

“Well, you never said anything before about…” he trailed off, at a loss for words to describe whatever was between them. “About liking to make me happy.”

Geralt sighed. “I didn’t know what to say. By the time I figured out that I wanted to say anything at all, it was too late. You’d already told me to fuck off, and I didn’t get the chance to tell you before you left in a huff.” 

“But maybe I wouldn’t have left if I’d known.” Gods, how stupid Jaskier had been. “Maybe if I didn’t think that you wanted to leave, I’d have stayed.” 

“I never said I did want to leave. You made assumptions,” he said quietly. “We both did.” 

“I still wish you would’ve said something earlier.” Jaskier wanted nothing more than to eliminate the distance between them, but he wasn’t sure if he should. Geralt had come back to him, but what did he actually want from this? 

“You of all people know why it’s so hard for me,” Geralt accused, and that hurt, because Jaskier did know. Jaskier had seen the way that most others had treated Geralt, and even he, a loquacious bard, would’ve been hesitant to open up to some of those monsters. 

“I do know,” Jaskier responded seriously. “But I’d hoped that I’d at least made you feel comfortable with sharing. We did have our moments,” he added a bit wistfully, thinking of that time before the Cintran ball. 

“You did. Of course you did,” Geralt reassured. “You were kind. I’d never met another human who was as kind as you were, who was so willing to take up for me, to protect _me_. And who did it without hope of anything in return.”

“That’s a pretty low bar, Geralt,” Jaskier said, trying to brush him off, but knowing that he was blushing fiercely. Damn his pale complexion. 

“Yeah, but no one else met it, so…” Geralt shrugged, and Jaskier was once again reminded that he was wearing a shirt. And then he remembered why Geralt had never worn a shirt before and he was back to where he started.

“Seriously, Geralt. If you knew how I felt, then why didn’t you say anything earlier?” 

Geralt was quiet, considering his words carefully. Jaskier had learned to appreciate that about him. They were a study in contrasts—one always saying what was on their minds without thought and the other carefully considering each word. 

“I didn’t know how,” he confessed honestly. “I’d never had someone return my feelings. And, I honestly didn’t know how much of it was leftover from your original goal of sleeping with an incubus. Maybe I was just the next best thing, something to warm your bed when there was no one else.”

“You had to know it was more than that,” Jaskier insisted. Geralt just gave him a look, probably thinking back to the time when they first met. “Well, maybe not at first,” he admitted. “I did want to expand my sexual horizons and when it turned out you weren’t a sex demon, but still you were hot like lava, my original goal still sounded attainable.” Geralt gave him an _I told you so_ look. “But that was only at the beginning. As I got to know you better, I realized that you had it all. You were truly a decent demon who just happened to look like my wet dreams come to life. You had to know.” 

“I didn’t trust my senses. As you remember with the leshen, they can be manipulated.” 

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I didn’t know how to believe it, Jaskier,” Geralt finally admitted. “How could someone so bright and happy like _me_? I’m just a mercenary demon summoned to kill monsters—I’m all the things that you aren’t.” 

“From where I’m standing, you’re the catch,” Jaskier countered. “How could someone as good as you,” he pointed to Geralt for emphasis of his goodness, “like me, a bard who doesn’t even know when enough is enough.” 

Geralt just shook his head fondly and said, “We’re not going to get anywhere with this argument.”

“You’re right, as usual,” Jaskier conceded, knowing that he had a big grin on his face and not caring one whit. Geralt liked him. He liked Geralt. “Does that mean that we can get somewhere with a different line of reasoning?” he asked, carefully closing the distance between them and looping his arms around Geralt’s broad, unfortunately clothed, shoulders. But if Jaskier had anything to say about it, they wouldn’t be for long. 

Geralt smiled and gently raised his arms to place them around Jaskier’s waist. “I believe we can make that happen.” Jaskier closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss that had been a long time coming. 

It may not have been what he’d set out to find, but fuck was it way better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are ♥
> 
> I love making new friends on [Tumblr](http://glittering-git.tumblr.com/) and [Dreamwidth!](https://glittering-git.dreamwidth.org/)


End file.
